


I'll Take It Slow

by chalantness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 23:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: “Unless you want everyone to know what we sound like when we’re fucking, we should at least make it into our car.”





	I'll Take It Slow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evanzski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanzski/gifts).



> Inspired by [this post](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/171465277611/please-dont-feel-like-you-need-to-answer-with) and [this gif (nsfw)](http://companyofthecourtesan.tumblr.com/post/166857460185). Because of course when evanzski and I talked about car sex, I made plans to write it, with an honorable mention of [motorcycle sex](http://sassaspazz.tumblr.com/post/171474489087/please-dont-feel-like-you-need-to-answer-with) for sassaspazz because that deserves a fic all to itself.

“This game of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

Natasha bites on the inside of her lip, fighting off the shiver that almost ripples over her spine as his warm breath ghosts over her ear. She leans back against his chest ever so slightly – not nearly enough to draw any attention, but definitely enough so that he feels it. His hand slides over her hip, giving it a squeeze, and she feels herself smile as her gaze trails over the crowded ballroom. For the first time since arriving at this charity gala, no one seems to be paying attention to them. She kind of loves it when they do, though. Loves trailing her fingers along the material of his slacks, stretching on her toes to nip at his earlobe, to whisper things that make him groan, that make him squirm, his hand barely brushing against the slivers of skin exposed by her dress before he’s being dragged away to mingle. She knows that if she glances over her shoulder, she’ll find his jaw set, his eyes dark and stormy. _Impatient_.

Steve is nothing if not stubborn – trying to brush off her teasing all evening, chatting with everyone as if completely unaffected – but she knows even _he_ has his limits.

“That’s funny.” She feels his hand tighten on her hip. “I don’t feel like I’m in trouble.”

He chuckles. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he says, turning her body into him a little more, and before she can meet his gaze, he dips his lips and presses a kiss to the sensitive spot just under her ear. She bites on her lip again, harder, her eyes darting over the crowd. No one is even looking in their direction, and even if they were, it would just look as if Steve is whispering something to her. He nips at her skin, then traces the tip of his tongue over the mark he made, soothing it. She arches her neck ever so slightly. “You alright there, Nat?”

“Fuck you,” she breathes out on a laugh. He sucks at her skin and her eyelashes flutter, her breaths quickening ever so slightly. “I think we should go.”

“Really?” She can hear the smirk in his voice as he pulls away, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to her temple. Innocent. _Teasing_. “Because an hour ago, you seemed rather adamant about me taking you right here in this ballroom, for everyone to see.” His hand slides a little higher, tracing his fingers along the dip of her dress in the back.

She glances over her shoulder, finally, _finally_ meeting his gaze, and the intensity of his stare makes her pause. She knows, realistically, that Steve would never make a scene in public – especially not _that_ kind of scene – but for a moment, she thinks that maybe he’s two seconds away from shoving her up against the wall, or laying her over one of these tables.

“Then again, I’d rather everyone here not know what you look like when you fall apart.” His lips tug at the corners. “Or what you sound like when you’re desperate.”

She feels her hands twitch. “Desperate?”

“Yeah, Nat.” His eyes are twinkling as his fingers splay over her back. “Because I’m willing to bet that you’re quite desperate under that dress.”

“You have no idea what’s under this dress, Captain,” she tells him with a tilt of her head, relishing in the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly. His hand slides over her thigh, slowly, discreetly, his fingers slipping under the slit of her dress and trailing higher, until he meets one of the satin ribbons of her lingerie.

He exhales a sharp breath, pulls his hand back and tucks it into his pocket as he looks away. She smirks. “We should say goodbye to Tony and Pepper, at least.”

“They won’t miss us.” She turns around and places her hands on his chest, smoothing them up the lapels of his blazer. He glances at her. “In fact, knowing our track record, they probably _want_ us to leave before you toss me onto one of the dessert tables.”

He chuckles. “Don’t start giving me ideas.”

She cups her hands behind his neck, stretches on her toes to press her lips to his ears. She’s not exactly not being inconspicuous anymore, but she couldn’t care less if anyone is paying attention. “Oh, but you _love_ my ideas,” she whispers, then snatches his earlobe between her teeth, pulling a startled groan from his lips.

She tugs him forward, toward the double doors only a few paces away, and his eyes glance across the room, no doubt checking to see if anyone is watching them slip out. She pulls them into the hallway, and they’ve barely stepped out of sight before he’s all but shoving her against the wall in a kiss, hot and hard and heavy. She twists her fingers into his blazer and parts her lips for him as he cups her jaw with one hand, the other dropping to where her dress parts along her thigh, gripping her just hard enough to make her gasp against his lips.

“Don’t know if we’ll make it home.” He reaches behind her, fisting her dress with both hands, and her heart fucking _skips_ when she feels him starting to pull. She can practically hear the material straining, threatening to be torn. “Don’t know if we’ll make it out of his hallway.”

Fleetingly, she imagines him taking her right here against this wall: her expensive, satin dress bunched up around her hips as he sinks into her, his hand pressing over her mouth to muffle her moans, a ballroom full of philanthropists and press only steps away from discovering them. She very nearly whimpers, and she knows that he can see her every thought in her eyes, because he gets that glimmer in his gaze as he rocks his hips against hers, brushing against her sex. She gasps again, her eyes closing as the back of her head hits the wall.

His knuckles brush gently over her cheek, sweeping up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and it’s stupid that this gentle, sweet gesture is what’s making her head spin.

Her eyelashes flutter open to find him staring at her, and his expression would seem almost blank if not for the awe in his eyes.

“Well,” she breathes, “unless you want everyone to know what we sound like when we’re fucking, we should at least make it into our car.”

He chuckles, peels them off of the wall and hooks an arm around her, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, her lips latching onto his pulse, sucking gently, and he groans from the back of his throat as he stumbles them down the hallway. She couldn’t count how many times they’ve snuck out of this ballroom even if she tried, so she knows this leads to the private parking lot behind the hotel. It’s already dark out, but still early enough that she knows no one else at the gala will be leaving soon. She’s not worried about being caught.

The crisp air sends tingles over her skin when he gets them outside, a shudder rippling down her spine, and then she sucks in a sharp gasp when he presses her up against something cold and solid a few moments later. Thank god they weren’t parked far.

He pulls the keys from his pocket and gets the car unlocked, then pauses when he opens the door to the back seats, no doubt wanting to let her in first. She smirks instead, pushing him in by his shoulders, and he breathes out a laugh as he ducks into the car. He’s barely sat down before she’s sliding over his lap and grinding her hips over his, kisses him deeper and dirtier. He groans, his hand fumbling to find the handle of the door, making the metal creak when he slams it shut, then he’s pushing his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head as his tongue presses against hers. She’s rolling her hips against his, a little rougher, a little faster, pressing against his hard length through his slacks and making her moan.

She needs him. She needs him _right now_.  

Her fingers practically claw at his tie, a growl of frustration leaving her lips as she fumbles to get it undone, and the asshole actually _laughs_ at her when she yanks it out from around his neck and tosses it aside.

“Now you know why I prefer to just rip you out of everything,” he murmurs into their kiss, and because she knows him, she knows exactly what he’s going to do before he even lifts a finger. She feels his arms come around her, his hands gripping her dress where it meets at the dip of her back and then tugging, tearing it apart with ease.

A fresh burst of warmth unfurls in her stomach at the sound of the fabric being ripped, and he tugs it off of her entirely, dumping the satin into a pile on the floor of the car. His gaze feels like a palpable touch as it slides down her chest, taking in her black mesh and satin bra, then sliding down the flat of her stomach to the thin ribbons wrapped intricately around her hips, holding the scrap of lace that is her panties in place. Her stockings had been fitted enough that she didn’t need the garter straps, but of course she’d worn them, anyway.

His eyes flick up to hers again, and the intensity in them makes her stomach fucking _flip_.

“Maybe I _should_ have laid you over the dessert table.” His voice is gravelly and soft, barely above a whisper, as if he’s simply thinking out loud. He hooks a finger over the ribbon resting against her left hip “I could eat you up.”

She slides her lips over his cheek, along the line of his jaw, down the column of his neck, kissing every inch of skin as she goes. “Then what are you waiting for, soldier?”

He chuckles, and it feels delicious with the way they’re pressed together. “Impatient, are we?” She nips at his pulse and he chuckles again, sliding his hands over her hips and grinds her down on him. “Got to wait a little bit, baby,” he says, and she feels her stomach flutter as he flips them over, sitting her down with her back pressed against the leather seats as he drops to his knees between her legs. He sets his palms on the tops of her thighs, slowly sliding them upward, and her back arches. “I plan on taking my time to admire you like this.”

She arches an eyebrow as his fingers reach the ribbons wrapped around her panties. “Before you completely ruin it?”

“Well, I certainly have a history.” He leans forward and kisses the dip between her breasts. She hums softly, reaches up and tucks her hand into his hair. “But it’s mostly your fault.”

She laughs. “My fault?”

He smirks against her skin, kisses his way up to her collarbone, and the way his suit is brushing against her bared, flushed skin makes her tingle. “For being so irresistible.” His hands smooth over the ribbons of her lingerie, his touch slow, almost innocent. “For being such a damn tease that I can barely contain myself.” He kisses the pulse in her throat, making her fingers tighten in his hair. “So I’m not going to touch you until you touch yourself first,” he murmurs into her skin, and then pulls away so abruptly that it takes a moment for her to catch her breath. She’s not quite sure if she’s heard him correctly, but he slowly shrugs out of his blazer, letting it fall to the floor as he’s holding her gaze with that fucking smirk of his.

“You—” She narrows her eyes a little. “What?”

“I’m _not_ going to _touch you_ until you _touch yourself_ first,” he repeats slowly as he reaches down and grasps the buckle of his belt. She bites on her lower lip, trying in vain not to squirm. “Because when you have your fingers inside you, you’ll wish they were mine. And even if you come like that, it’s not going to be enough.”

Her skin feels flushed, her chest tightening. She knows she’s wet. She can feel it. “We’re being petty tonight, are we?”

He laughs at her. _Asshole_.

“Maybe. Maybe I want to teach you a little something, too.” He undoes the buckle. “That teasing of yours nearly got us killed the other day, in case you’ve forgotten.”

She knows she shouldn’t, but she smirks at this. As terrible as an idea as it had been, she couldn’t quite help herself when they were on his bike last week and she could already feel how hard he was getting with the way he was curved around her. His body had tensed when she had rubbed back against him, his hand nearly slipping off entirely when she’d done it again, and, fuck, thank god the countryside road they were taking back to the city had been deserted because they definitely could have crashed. He’d end up pulling off of the road, barely shoving her jeans down before bending her over his bike and sinking into her from behind. She knew she’d pissed him off, but that made him a little wilder and she’d _loved it_.

“I didn’t forget.” She grins. “And I certainly didn’t forget that smug grin you had after you fucked me into that tree.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not talking your way out of this one, Nat.” Slowly, he starts pulling at his belt. “The sooner you touch yourself, the sooner _I_ can.”

She holds his gaze for a moment longer, simply because she’s _stubborn_ , and because she knows _he’s_ being stubborn, too. She can tell that he’s not going to budge with this, and maybe she should be more embarrassed about giving in, but she doesn’t care.

Slowly, she slides her hand down the flat of her stomach and tucks it under the ribbons wrapped around her hips. Her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly when her fingertips brush over her sex – _fuck_ , she’s _wet_ – but she doesn’t break their stare and neither does he. She kind of loves how focused he is on her right now, loves the way his breaths quicken, the way his fingers stall right before he can tug his belt completely off. He could be watching her working her fingers over herself, but he likes the anticipation. Likes _knowing_ but not yet seeing.

The ribbons restrain the curl of her fingers, and one flick of her wrist has her pressing right against her clit, making her gasp a little because it was too much sensation, too fast.

She reaches down with her other hand, bunches the ribbons between her fingers and pulls them aside, just a little. Just enough to give her a little more room, because she’s going to come in _seconds_ if she keeps touching her bundle of nerves like that. She slides her hand lower, curls her fingers again, and—

 _Oh_.

Her lips part even though she doesn’t make a sound, her hips lifting off of the seat a little as she rolls up into her hand. Not too much, but maybe not enough, either. She’s teasing herself the way she knows _he’d_ tease her, and she’s not entirely sure why.

No. She knows why. Because she loves it just as much as he does. Because, as much as she pretends to hate it, as frustrating as it is, she knows it’s _worth it_. She can practically feel the weight of his forearm pressing across her abdomen, preventing her from chasing his touch. She dips her fingers into her entrance, slow and teasing, then presses a little harder when she slides them back up, just like he would. Except her fingers are too small and too delicate and it’s not nearly enough. She closes her eyes, her head falling back as she tries to lose herself in the sensation, but she can’t quite. She can hear his breathing, heavy and uneven. She can smell him everywhere, can practically feel the heat radiating off of his body.

She digs her stilettos into the floor of the car, rolls her hips, curls her fingers harder, faster—and then very nearly whimpers when it’s still not enough.

But then his fingers curl around her wrist, gently tugging it away, and her eyelids snap open to find him hovering over her, his face only a breath away from hers. He’s kneeling between her legs again, and she almost jumps when his free hand lands on top of her knee, parting her a little bit wider.

He pulls her hand toward him, holding her gaze as his takes her slick fingers into his mouth and sucks, and the groan that it pulls from his throat sends a burst of heat through her veins.

“Kiss me,” she demands, her voice breathy and soft, and he releases her fingers and slants his mouth over hers. He licks at the seam of her lips, kissing her slowly at first, even when she parts her mouth for him and he presses his tongue against hers.

And she’s so lost in their kiss – so _relieved_ to have him touching her, even if it’s just like this – that she barely registers that his hands are on her hips against until his fingers are curling around the ribbons and pulling, snapping them apart as easily as he did her dress. She’d laugh, except he kisses her harder and this strained little sound comes out instead.

She reaches between them and fumbles to get the zipper of his slacks undone, pushing them down his thighs. She circles her fingers around his length – hard and hot and pulsing against the palm of her hand – and strokes him once, twice, three times. He groans against, his hands grasping the thing waistband of her panties and snapping those off, too. Then he’s curving an arm around her and pulling her to his chest, maneuvering her to straddle his lap as he slides back onto the seat. His length is pressing against the inside of her thigh, already slick with her arousal, and she shifts her hips forward to press him right against her folds, rolling her hips. They both pull their lips away to moan at this, and his hands grip her harder, rocking her against him again and again. It’s ridiculous how much they enjoy this. How much they love teasing each other, because they know this how they _savor_ each other.

He lifts her hips over him, and her forehead falls against his as he sinks her onto him completely. She can feel him tensing underneath her, straining not to move.

“Fuck me,” she demands – _pleads_ – kissing the bridge of his nose. She grasps onto his shoulders, digs her nails into his muscles through the thin material of his dress shirt.

She expects him to go slowly at first, to ease them both into it, but she knows he’s wound up just as tightly as she is. Maybe even worse, since she’s been sneaking in teasing touches all night. He pretends to be exasperated by it, just like she pretends to annoyed by _his_ teasing, except he loves it. He _loves_ it.

She draws in a sharp, shallow gasp as he grinds her hips against his, hard and deep, and he leans forward and sucks at her pulse. She tips her head back, arching her neck a little bit more, and he grazes his teeth against her skin before biting.

It always feels a little bit overwhelming when he’s inside her, stretching her, pressing against her every nerve. She tries to roll her hips with his, to find his rhythm, but then he slips a hand from her hip and reaches between them, his thumb gently pressing over her clit, and her mind sort of goes _blank_ for a moment.

His thrusts are quick and almost bruising, making her orgasm climb up higher through her veins, quicker, coiling around her tightly. He circles his thumb tighter, digging his fingers into her hip so hard that she knows it’ll leave a mark – one he’ll kiss tenderly every single time he sees it until it heals. She winds her arms around him and kisses him hard, even though her lungs are burning. (Every part of her feels like it’s _burning_ , in the most delicious way.) He groans and nips at her lower lip, losing their rhythm for a moment as he kisses her back. She whimpers, parting her lips for him. She doesn’t think she’ll get over the way it feels to kiss him when he’s inside her, to feel so connected to him as they both climb towards their high.

A shudder ripples down her spine, and she bites down on his lip as the roll of his hips grow harder, more uneven. She’s _right there_ on that edge and she can feel it.

And because he knows – he _always knows_ – he breaks their kiss and lets her fall against his chest as she sucks in a gasp, pressing her forehead against his neck as she dissolves into a broken moan. He rubs her circle her clit a little tighter, brushes against that sweet spot in her once, twice, three times, and then turns his head to kiss her hair sweetly, tenderly.

She mewls out as her orgasm bursts over her, muffled into the racing pulse in his neck. Everything is white-hot and burning, consuming her, unwinding her ever sense, but she can still tell that his breaths are uneven and shallow. She can still tell that he’s almost there, too, and then she kisses him and he thrusts up into her and digs his nails to hold her against him as he groans out his release. There’s nothing quite as sensuous and delirious as feeling him come undone inside her, nothing quite as perfect as feeling him come _with_ her, and she clings onto him tighter as the waves of pleasure roll over them. He kisses her hair once, twice, his grip loosening on her hips but not quite letting go, soothing the bruises he knows he made.

After a moment, his chest rumbles in a soft chuckle, a hand patting at her hip. “Love, we need to get going.”

She hums in protest, shaking her head. “ _No_.”

“Someone might come outside.” She can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “And I definitely don’t plan on letting anyone see you like this.”

“Well-fucked?” she teases, even though her heart sort of flutters at the thought of what she must look like: her panties ripped off, her skin sweaty and flushed, her thighs slick with their release.

He chuckles again and wraps an arm around her, and she’s still so, so sensitive that this little motion with him still inside her is enough to make her whimper. She hears him click open the center console, retrieving the tissue box they keep inside, and murmurs her name soothingly into her temple as he lifts her off of him. She peppers his face with kisses as he wipes her clean, simply because she wants to, and also because she’s a complete sucker for the way he takes care of her like this. If they were home, he’d slide his way down her body and lick her clean instead, pushing her toward another orgasm, but she likes this, too. Just likes holding him, likes hearing their breaths evening out together as he cleans them both off.

He reaches for his blazer on the car floor and drapes it over her shoulders, and she slips her arms through the sleeves, drawing it closed as she smiles at him.

He lifts a hand and tucks his fingers through her hair, smoothing his thumb over her temple. She twists her head and kisses the inside of his wrist.

“You know,” she says, arching an eyebrow, “we never did get to sample that dessert table tonight.”

He fucking _smirks_. “Oh, I know.” Gently tugging her toward him, he kisses her, short and sweet. “I plan on laying you over our kitchen table and enjoying you to make up for it,” he says against her lips, stroking his fingers over her scalp where he’s cradling the back of her head. “I’m sure eating chocolate off of you will be far more enjoyable, anyway.”

“It better be,” she replies, and her stomach flutters when he laughs and kisses her again, just a little bit harder.


End file.
